He wasn’t going to get in through the front, nor were there any hiding places in the parking area. The only way in was round the back, but there was no access from within the development, so Scope went back over the wall, checking that the street was still empty before he jumped down the other side. He followed the road round to the rear of the building, only to find a fifteen-foot-high wall topped with railings, keeping him out. These townhouses had clearly been marketed at the security-conscious, and doubtless Frank Bale had more to fear than most men.
Scope looked at his watch. A watery sun was rising above the grey, low-rise skyline. It was only a few hours until the select-committee meeting began.
Even so, he had no choice but to wait.
Tim Horton stared at the padded black vest in his hands. It was a simple creation, made of cotton canvas, with shoulder straps and two large enclosed pockets at the front. The lower pocket contained a single block of something hard, roughly six inches by three inches and about an inch thick, while the other pocket appeared empty.
He put the vest down on the bed and tore open the Velcro strap on the lower pocket, visibly stiffening as he saw what it contained. He was no weapons expert, but he knew immediately that what he was looking at was plastic explosives.
‘This is a bomb,’ he said, clutching the phone tightly to his ear.
‘Well done, Mr Horton. Full marks.’
‘It’ll never get through security.’
‘Of course it will,’ said the kidnapper with an alarming level of confidence. ‘As you can see, it contains no metal, so it’ll go through the detectors without making a peep.’
‘But what if the machine bleeps anyway? They do it at random sometimes.’
‘It’s taken care of. As long as you don’t have anything metal on you, and you wear the vest under your shirt so no one can see it, there’ll be no problem at all.’
Tim felt faint. These people – whoever they were – had the whole thing thought through. He knew that the security in the Commons was full of holes. It always had been. People – the public, staff – were in and out all the time, with only minimal checks. He’d never worried that much about it, assuming like everyone else that no one would dare to launch an attack on Parliament, and now they were going to use him to do just that. He was conscious that his breath was coming in fevered gasps. ‘It won’t work,’ he whispered, conscious of the lack of confidence in his own voice. ‘You need something to detonate it with.’
‘Full marks again, Mr Horton. After you’ve passed through the detectors on the way to the hearing room, go into the men’s toilets on the left and enter the third cubicle. If it’s occupied, wait for it to become free. Behind the bowl, you’ll find a mobile phone attached to a small battery unit and detonator. It’s small enough to fit into the empty pocket of the vest. All you have to do is put it in the pocket and walk back out again.’
‘Jesus, I can’t do that …’
‘Of course you can. Your son’s life depends on it, remember? But be very careful with the detonator. It’s quite sensitive and we don’t want any premature explosions.’
Tim’s legs felt like they were going to go from under him. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to charge out of this shitty little hotel room and run and run until he finally collapsed from exhaustion. Anything to make the pure terror that was surging through him go away.
Jesus, Scope. I never liked you much. But if you can help me now, I’d do anything to repay you. Anything in the world.
‘Be strong, Mr Horton. All you’ve got to do is walk into that committee room, sit down, act natural, and we’ll take care of everything else.’
‘What do you mean, act natural? You’re asking me to sit there and wait for someone to blow me and everyone else in that room to pieces. You’re asking me to die, for Christ’s sake!’
‘I’m not asking you to do anything,’ said the kidnapper coldly. ‘I’m telling you. If you want your son to live, you will act naturally, you will keep your fear in check and, when the time comes, yes, you will die. But so that your son can live. Remember that. This is for Max.’
‘You fucking bastard.’
‘I’m going to let that go, as you’re under a lot of pressure. But watch what you’re saying or the next time your son loses a finger.’
‘I want to say goodbye to Max. I want to talk to him.’
‘That’s not possible.’
‘I’m not going to do it if I can’t speak to him.’
‘Don’t order me around, Horton. I’ll hurt your boy.’
‘You’ve already hurt him. How do I know he’s even still alive?’
‘Don’t raise your voice at me,’ snapped the kidnapper.
There was a pause. Tim was breathing heavily, strangely exhilarated by his pathetic act of rebellion.
The kidnapper grunted. ‘All right. Give me a phrase.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Give me a few words you want him to say. I’ll get him to say them, then play the recording to you down the phone. That way you’ll know he’s still alive. It’s the best you’re going to get.’
For a good ten seconds, Tim couldn’t think of anything at all. His brain was that fuddled. ‘Ask him to repeat something he’d say when he was very small. “I love you to the moon and back.” Twice.’ He felt a lump in his throat. ‘It’s what he’d say to me when I put him to bed and read him a story. I haven’t done that in a while now. Tell him that I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much as I should, and that I love him more than anything.’
There was a long silence at the other end of the phone. ‘Okay,’ said the kidnapper, sounding thoughtful. ‘I’ll call you in the next two hours. In the meantime, get ready. Your son’s depending on you.’
The line went dead, but Tim stood in the middle of the room with the phone to his ear for a good minute, allowing the tears to stream down his face. There was no way out. Last night it had all seemed so surreal. Now fate was charging towards him like a steam train and he was helpless in its headlights. His life was over.
But then a new thought struck him. He had the opportunity to be brave. To make his son truly proud of him. By going to his death as a man with his head held high. People would remember him as someone who gave his life so that his son could live. They would think well of him, possibly for the first time in his life.
‘Be brave,’ he whispered, putting the phone away in his pocket. ‘Be brave.’
But even as he spoke the words, he could feel his hands shaking.
16
Scope stretched in the driver’s seat, trying to get comfortable. He and Orla had been in his car, two hundred yards further down the street from where Frank Bale lived, for well over an hour now. It was the only place they could park legally, and Scope was frustrated and impatient, knowing they were wasting valuable time. He’d had to turn the heating off to conserve the battery, and the car’s interior was cold.
‘You don’t talk much, do you?’ said Orla. She had Scope’s laptop on her lap, which was connected to the tracking device under Bale’s car, and she seemed happy to be helping him.
He shrugged. ‘I only talk when I’ve got something to say.’
‘And you’ve got nothing to say to me? Are you still pissed off about what happened with Tim?’
‘You did a bad thing.’
‘I didn’t force him to sleep with me, you know. He chose to. It’s not my fault he’s a philandering arsehole.’
‘I wouldn’t deny that,’ said Scope, looking out the window.
‘So why are you helping him?’
‘Let’s just say I’ve got a connection to the family.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Scope could see her looking at him, wanting to get his attention. He ignored her. He had no desire for small talk, not with everything else that was going on, but as he sat staring out at the street, watching it begin to fill up with school kids and the next wave of commuters, he heard Orla sobbing quietly. With a sigh he turned towards her. ‘What
’s wrong?’
‘I just can’t believe that Phil tried to kill me. I can’t believe my life – everything – is so fucked up.’
‘You can change it, you know,’ he told her. ‘You’re young. You’re pretty. You’re not stupid. That’s usually considered a winning combination.’
‘But how? I’m caught up in something really big, and Phil’s lying dead in my flat.’
For a moment, she looked like a terrified young girl. It might have been an act, but somehow Scope doubted it.
‘You don’t have to stick with me,’ he said. ‘Go to the police. Tell them the truth. Phil tried to kill you; a stranger intervened; you ran away. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell them too much about me, of course. But the point is, you can sort this.’
‘I just want to be happy, that’s all,’ she said, shaking her head as if even the thought of happiness was pointless. ‘I didn’t want to end up like this.’
‘And you don’t have to. Make a fresh start away from here. Take a TEFL course or something. Go and teach kids English in some far-flung country where you can feel the sun on your back.’
‘I don’t have the money.’
‘Then earn it. Get a job. Save up. You can do anything if you try. Remember that.’
She smiled a little and put a hand on Scope’s arm, giving it a squeeze. ‘Maybe I will. Thanks. You’re a nice guy.’
Scope knew she’d never do it. He could see it in her eyes. She was the kind of girl who was used to fooling men and telling them what they wanted to hear. Fair enough. It wasn’t his problem.
The laptop on Orla’s lap bleeped loudly. Frank Bale’s car was on the move.
‘Right, time to go,’ he said, switching on the engine and pulling out into the road.
‘What are you going to do when you catch up with him?’
It was a good question. ‘We’re going to follow him and see where he heads.’
‘You think he might lead us to Tim’s son?’
‘I don’t know, but there aren’t going to be many people involved in this, and he’s probably the most senior, so he’s going to know where Max is. If we get close to him and I get the chance, I’m going to speak to him.’
But getting close to him proved to be impossible. Central London’s rush hour was in full swing, and it took them a good five minutes to get onto the A404. According to the tracker, Bale was heading south and was roughly eight hundred yards in front of them.
For the next twenty minutes Scope weaved in and out of the traffic, getting steadily closer to Bale’s Jaguar as it turned onto the North Circular, heading down through Hangar Lane and then onto Ealing Broadway until it was only fifty yards ahead of them. There were still far too many cars and pedestrians to even think about intercepting him, but it didn’t matter to Scope, so long as he kept Bale in his sights. He’d wait until a suitable opportunity to make a move presented himself, then he’d go in hard. There’d be no niceties. He would make Bale take him to where they were holding Max. After that, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.
‘He’s turning left,’ said Orla, looking up from the laptop screen and craning her neck so she could see past the single line of slow-moving traffic ahead of them. Scope did the same thing and saw the Jaguar pull into the front car park of a large, shabby-looking building straight out of the school of crap 1960s architecture.
It was another minute before they drew level with it, and Scope cursed when he saw that the building was Ealing police station and that Bale’s car, and Bale himself, was nowhere to be seen.
‘Shit!’ said Orla. ‘What now?’
Scope carried on driving, before pulling into a residential street fifty yards past the station and parking illegally halfway up on the pavement. He was about to answer when the phone rang in his pocket.
It was Tim Horton, and the time was 8.53 a.m. This time instinct told Scope to answer.
‘Are you free to talk?’ he asked, putting the phone to his ear.
‘Yes, but not for long. They’re monitoring me.’
‘I’ve located the man I think may be masterminding this, but I can’t talk to him at the moment. He’s just gone inside a police station.’
‘Voluntarily?’
‘Yeah, he’s a cop.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘I don’t joke in these situations.’
‘Jesus! The bastard.’ Tim sighed. ‘I’ve just had a recorded message from Max on my phone. He’s definitely alive, Scope. But time’s running out. I’m on my way into Parliament, and I’m wearing a suicide vest. They’re going to make me use it in the hearing at eleven. I’ve got two hours, Scope,’ he continued, his voice cracking under the strain. ‘After that, it’s all over.’
Scope’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. This was worse than he’d thought. ‘I know it’s hard, but try not to panic. It won’t help.’
‘That’s easy for you to say.’
‘I’ve been in life-threatening situations before, remember. Just like the one you’re in now. And I’m going to get you out of this one. Are you meant to detonate it yourself?’
Orla’s eyes widened when she heard this, but Scope gave her a look that said keep quiet.
‘No,’ said Tim, ‘that’s the thing. The detonator’s hidden in the gents’ toilets, after the metal detectors. I’ve just been told to put it in the vest. I think they’re going to detonate it by mobile phone.’
‘Don’t pick up the detonator. You might set it off prematurely and the minute you’re wearing it, you’ve got no control over what happens to you.’
Tim let out a hollow laugh. ‘I haven’t had any control over anything for the last eighteen hours. But how are you going to stop this?’
‘You’ll just have to trust me.’
There was a long pause at the other end. ‘I’ve got to go now. But tell me … Is Orla okay?’
Jesus, thought Scope, he really must be smitten to worry about her when he potentially had two hours to live. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘She’s fine. Now remember, don’t wear that thing. I’ll sort this out.’
Tim ended the call without answering, and Scope replaced the phone in his pocket.
‘So, what are they going to make him do?’ asked Orla.
‘You don’t want to know,’ said Scope and pulled away from the kerb as a blue-capped traffic warden approached. Right now, Frank Bale was untouchable, and would be until he left the police station.
And with just over two hours to go until the hearing started, Scope was going to have to think of something fast.
17
It was 10 a.m. and Ealing cop shop was like a furnace. Someone had turned the thermostat up to tropical rainforest setting and Frank Bale, who felt the heat at the best of times, was sweating like a pregnant nun. He’d just had a meeting with the SIO of the local murder squad who were investigating the sexually motivated killing of an eleven-year-old girl in her home, in what appeared to be a burglary gone wrong. The inquiry had ground to a halt and the powers-that-be were considering getting Frank’s unit involved, to try to get things moving again. And, after the meeting that Frank had just had, it was clear his expertise was needed. The local SIO was out of his depth, and you couldn’t have that in a case like this. Child killings – particularly those involving strangers – always created a lot of heat, which, Frank thought, was ironic under the current circumstances. He didn’t have any kids himself. A low sperm count had put paid to that. His wife had been disappointed. Frank hadn’t. He’d never liked them.
Even so, he got no pleasure from what was happening to Max Horton. Nor what was going to happen in a few hours’ time, because the thing was, there was no way he could be released. Kids had good recall, and under questioning from trained police officers, Horton junior would almost certainly be able to throw up a few decent leads, however careful his kidnappers had been. And Frank couldn’t afford that. He’d originally tasked Phil Vermont with killing him and disposing of his corpse, knowing that an amoral lowlife like him would have no
problem with that, as long as the money was right. Now that he was dead, Frank was going to have to rely on Celia to do it, although from the sounds of her, she wasn’t going to have any problem, either. Either way, Frank wanted to avoid getting blood on his own hands.
As he walked back to his car, he flapped open his suit jacket to let the frigid air cool him. In truth, he felt uneasy. He didn’t like the fact that this guy Scope was running round looking for him. He remembered the name from the siege at the Stanhope Hotel two years earlier. Scope had performed a few heroics and had taken out a couple of terrorists, Bruce Willis-style, just like he’d taken out Phil Vermont. Frank was pretty sure Scope wouldn’t be able to find him, but he wasn’t taking any chances. In the Jag’s glove compartment was a short-barrelled 9mm pistol with a suppressor attached – a gift from his boss, in case of emergencies. He reached over and got it out now, fitting it to a shoulder holster underneath his jacket, before pulling out of his parking space.
It was time to do his good deed of the day.
18
They’d been driving round in circles, waiting for Frank Bale to make his move, for the past hour. Scope had told Orla what the kidnappers wanted Tim Horton to do – in the end, he’d seen no reason not to – and it was obvious that the knowledge of what she was a part of had come as a huge shock, because she’d been largely silent ever since.
Scope was a patient man. It was a virtue he’d learned in the army, where there was always a great deal more watching and waiting than there ever was actual fighting, but even so the pressure was beginning to tell. If Frank Bale didn’t come out of the police station soon, then he was going to have to get inside the building somehow.
But how? He wasn’t Superman. There was only so much he could do. If the bomb was going to be detonated remotely by mobile phone, then he was sure Bale would be the man detonating it. The huge problem was that he could do this anywhere. All it took was a phone call to the handset attached to the bomb and it would set the thing off.
Dead Man's Gift and Other Stories Page 7